


Twin Sized

by crimsonkitty



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Baseball, Cuddling and Snuggling, Drunkenness, Friendship, Gen, RPF, San Francisco Giants, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonkitty/pseuds/crimsonkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request fic for akitron - Brian/Timmy sharing too small a bed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twin Sized

Brian likes going out with Timmy. The kid’s funny and loose and all smiles when he’s not out on the mound. He’s got these lost puppy eyes that Brian both loves and hates with a passion. But the two of them together is sort of like fire and gasoline; everything just seems to get out of hand.

And now here they are, stumbling out of the taxi at three in the morning, draped across each other and listing a little to the left, in danger of toppling all the way over. No one thought it would end any different.

(“Why are you so fat?” “M’not. You’re just a shrimp.”)

Getting up the driveway takes a few tries because Timmy keeps pulling one way when Brian pulls the other and neither of them are really capable of standing up on their own. They look sort of like a really short three legged giraffe crossed with a walrus moving on dry land. Brian already has a giant bruise forming where he smashed it on the taxi door.

They fall against the front door in Brian’s attempts to get it open, knees not working quite right or even at all, everything sort of warm and fuzzy around the edges, like they’re moving through soup.

On the fifth try, he lets out a noise of victory before they both fall through, realizing too late that there’s nothing left to support them. The tile floor is very cold and Brian leaves his face and entire body there for a few seconds, soaking it in.

“Why are we on the floor?” Timmy asks, curled up against his side.

“Because it’s comf... comfor...” Brian gives up. “Because it’s nice down here.”

“Oh. Okay.” He doesn’t question it.

Brian doesn’t know how long they stay down there before he realizes they’re only halfway inside. He manages to yank both his and Timmy’s legs through the doorway before kicking it closed, and thinks about just staying there on the doormat for the rest of the night. Only when Timmy lets out a disgusting burp right into his ear does he realize it’s probably not a good idea.

Shaking Timmy (who is mostly the way to passed out at this point which, rude. He could at least carry his own body weight instead of expecting Brian to do it), he drags the both of them up, and after losing count of the number of attempts to stand up, manages to make his way across the kitchen and down the hallway. They pass Dubbs, asleep in his doggy bed in the living room, twitching every so often. Brian hopes he’s chasing after pretty poodles. He tries to tip toe but he doesn’t think he’s very successful, not with Timmy’s sneakers squeaking loudly across the floor. Dubbs sleeps on, anyways.

“Good dog,” he whispers.

They make it past the kitchen with only a few mishaps and smashed fingers along the way, Timmy laid out across his back. Brian elbows him to make sure he’s not snoring. Timmy grunts his acknowledgment in return.

When they finally pause in front of Brian’s bedroom door and Timmy still hasn’t let go, Brian cranes his neck around to look at him. “Dude. I have a guest room.”

“Mmmph,” he answers, his nose buried in Brian’s shoulder. “That’s nice.”

Brian sighs and decides fighting it isn’t worth the trouble.

He shrugs Timmy off of him, and Timmy sort of drifts over until he’s splayed against the wall, eyes closed and cheek pressed against it, becoming one with the hideous wallpaper. 

Reaching down to yank off his shoes, the entire floor rushes up to meet him and Brian decides sleeping with your shoes on can be the new thing that he gets to start. Only the cool people sleep with their shoes on. They’re too busy being cool, they can’t be bothered to take them off.

Proud of his logic, he falls on top of the bed amongst a sea of blankets, shoes and all. Something sticks him hard between his ribs, bringing his magnificent glide down into sleep to a sharp halt, and he flops a hand around until he can reach underneath his stomach. When he can pull it back out, resting in his palm is a baseball, looking brand new and out of the box.

“What the fuck?”

He stares for a moment, watching it spin in his blurry vision, before throwing it in a random direction, half hoping he hits Timmy in the kneecap to wake him up. The loud crash when it hits against something that sounds really very breakable is possibly reason for concern but he really doesn’t care. He just doesn’t want to kill himself in the morning.

He’s all settled and comfy when a large weight falls on top of him, crushing the air out of his lungs.

“Ooph,” is all he manages.

Timmy scrambles a little higher before collapsing completely against his back. Brian mostly ignores him, deciding him not worth the effort.

They spend a few minutes shifting every so slightly, Brian’s arms slowly falling asleep until all he feels are the pins and needles and the need to throw up a little. 

“Why’s your bed so fucking small, man,” Timmy asks out of nowhere.

Brian yawns. “‘Cause you’re an asshole.”

“That’s not very nice,” he pouts

“Meh.” His face is itchy and it’s annoying

His hands are still stuck underneath him and the draping limbs of a two time Cy Young award winner are keeping them confined there for the rest of the night.

He scratches his chin across the dark comforter and sighs, resigned.

“Itchy,” he mutters into the dark

“Hmmm?” Timmy mumbles back.

“Never mind,” he says, shaking his head ever so slightly.

He wonders if letting the stubble grow out would mean he no longer has to worry about itchy chins ever again. He decides it’s a brilliant plan. One worth pursuing in the morning. Just like sleeping with shoes on.

Timmy snuggles his face in between his shoulder blades before murmuring, “Mmph. Night, Weez.”

Brian flexes his shoulders in acknowledgement. “Night, buddy.”

The room goes silent except for the occasional passing car on the road outside, cats meowing at other cats with the occasional hiss.

“I’d look awesome with a beard,” he muses out loud.

Timmy is snoring soundly.


End file.
